


Patch Me Up When It's All Said And Done

by theshizniiit



Series: Dorian Ruining John's Life (& Other Stories) [4]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: M/M, Melodrama, but only slightly i promise, hahahaha who's dramatic ahah not me hahah, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshizniiit/pseuds/theshizniiit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "John says something incredibly insensitive and spends the rest of the day trying to get Dorian to be happy again {cause damn, he is ignoring that asshat}"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patch Me Up When It's All Said And Done

**Author's Note:**

> This MAY have gotten more feels-y than I intended..

"Well I mean, you’re technically just  _property_  so you can’t just tell someone not to call you synthetic just because you don’t _like_ it.”

The words have hardly left John’s lips and he already knows he’s fucked up.

He’s fucked up bad.

Dorian’s blue eyes narrow, hiding his flash of hurt behind hard anger and annoyance, then turns on his heel and walks off, leaving John standing in the middle of the precinct, doughnut and coffee in hand and lacking his robotic partner.

Yep, John totally fucked up.

_Fuck._

He knows how sensitive Dorian is about his status. How he sees himself as capable and just like everyone else, with slight differences, and how his pleasant smile falls when humans dismiss him or when they say something insensitive in his presence, like he’s not worthy of the same respect that Dorian shows everyone else.

John knows that to Dorian,  _he’s_  supposed to be above all that. Everyone else may say shitty things that hurt the droid, but  _John_ isn’t supposed to. John is supposed to be the one that  _doesn’t_  do anyone of that. He knows that Dorian is a living being with thoughts and dreams just like him, so why the hell did he say that to him?

God, John is such an  _asshole._

He doesn’t mean to be, he swears, but he’s not used to having someone else’s beating heart ( _figuratively speaking)_  in his hands, he’s not used to having to worry about hurting someone he loves because he hasn’t allowed himself to love someone for a really long time. He doesn’t expect anyone to be hurt by what he says, because it never crossed his mind that someone could give a damn what he thought to the degree that it would hurt them if he said something terrible.

Like what he just said to his boyfriend.

His partner.

_Fuck._

And so, face burning in shame and self-loathing, John sits at his desk and ponders how to make it up to Dorian.

~

He hasn’t seen Dorian for the rest of the day. Not surprising, John thinks, seeing as he was pissed when he stormed out of the precinct. But then he returns back to their apartment, expecting to see Dorian reading a book on the couch or charging in his pod, only to find the apartment empty.

Dorian’s gone.

John’s heart leaps in his throat as he swears and exits the apartment in a huff, storming out into the parking lot and standing beside his car before he realizes.

He has no idea where Dorian  _is._

Or even where he could _be._

He gets into the car and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and his thumb, before deciding to drive around in search of his partner. 

~

It’s been four hours.

John still hasn’t spotted a flash of navy coat or too blue eyes.

He’s panicking.

~

The detective turns around and begins to head home, rationalizing that since Dorian isn’t a fan of being out late at night, he  _has_  to have returned to the apartment at  _some_  point. He stops at a vendor and purchases a bouquet of roses. He remembers Dorian saying that he liked them, as he was babbling about the meaning of flowers or something along those lines, John hadn’t been listening. Though, in his defense he’d been distracted by Dorian’s ass at the time. Still, the roses are bright, and soft to the touch, the petals giving way under his fingers and velvety smooth, he thinks it might put him back in Dorian’s good graces.

Still-

he  _feels_  like an ass, like a rom-com cliche, saying sorry with roses like some teenage boy in a John Hughes film, but John sucks with words  _(clearly)_  and he is out of options. He has no more ideas. All he has is a bunch of stupid roses and a bunch of apologies.

All he can do is put himself out there, say he’s a total dick, and hope Dorian isn’t finished with him forever.

God, he hopes he isn’t. Dorian is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

He grabs the flowers from the front seat of the car, exits and and heads upstairs. His nervousness amplifies when as he sticks his key in the lock and opens the door.

He steps inside, closing the door and walking through the dim apartment, and catches sight of Dorian in the bedroom, folding his shirts and placing in the bag propped open on the bed.

John freezes. Then springs into a flurry of frantic action.

"What are you doing?" He says, stepping into the room and standing in front of Dorian’s bag.

Dorian turns back to the drawer and pulls out another shirt, avoiding John’s eyes as he folds it slowly.

"I think I should go back to Rudy’s. Give you some space." He says. John has never heard him like this before. His voice is completely monotone, there’s no warmth.

"Why?" He croaks, keeping the roses behind his back but making a defeated gesture with his other hand, "Dorian-"

"Look man," The DRN says, cutting him off, "You clearly need space, and maybe we rushed into this and-"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No."

"John-"

"Look", John says, pulling the roses from behind his back and stepping up close to the DRN, "I’m sorry. Dorian, I’m _sorry_. I’m an asshole and I should never had said that. I know you’re so much more than what they think you are. And I know I hurt you. And I’m sorry.”

"John, I don’t think-" Dorian starts, trying to back away.

"You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me," the detective says, hands falling to his sides and shoulders slumping, "And sometimes I don’t know how to deal with that. But that doesn’t mean I should say terrible things to you, like I did today. I’m an asshole and I’m sorry. Just,-" he takes one of the shirts out of the bag, looking at the DRN.

"-please don’t leave."

He steps closer to Dorian, taking his chin and kissing him softly on the cheek, trying to erase the hurt on his face. The hurt  _he_  put there. He presents the flowers again, pressing them to Dorian’s chest as the DRN slowly takes them.

Dorian inhales a breath he doesn’t need and looks up at John, eyes serious and mouth contorted into a frown.

"I can’t be with you if you see me as less, John. I respect myself far too much for that." He says, voice level, eyes never breaking contact with the shifty detective in front of him. "I can’t do that to myself. I won’t."

"I know, and I don’t. I don’t think you’re any less." John sputters,"You’re  _more_.” he croaks, the sick feeling in his stomach expanding because _how could Dorian even think that god that’s so wrong,_  “I’m sorry. I never meant that. I never meant that at all. God, I’m so sorry.” He steps closer the DRN, who’s holding the flowers and looking down at them to avoid looking at John, and wraps his arms around his shoulders, bringing him into a hug. He settles is head atop Dorian’s and whispers a chorus ‘ _sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry’_  and ‘ _i love you’s’_  into the android’s hair.

The bag ends up pushed to the floor and forgotten and the night ends with Dorian with his head on John’s chest, and the detective stroking his neck.

The hurt is still there.

But he trusts John to patch him up afterwards, even when he’s the one causing the wounds.

That’s what love is.

 


End file.
